


from her lips she drew the hallelujah

by Singofsolace



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Birthday Fluff, F/F, Flashbacks, Hair Washing, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:20:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25134514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singofsolace/pseuds/Singofsolace
Summary: Zelda Spellman has never once celebrated her birthday. Marie LaFleur takes it upon herself to fix this.
Relationships: Marie LaFleur (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina)/Zelda Spellman
Comments: 25
Kudos: 59





	from her lips she drew the hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doyouknowyoudothatoutloud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doyouknowyoudothatoutloud/gifts).



> Disclaimer: While it seems a bit silly to credit Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa as the owner of these characters and this universe, considering he himself stole/borrowed/recreated them, let's give it a go. I do not own these characters, nor the universe in which they live. They belong to Archie Comics, which sent Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa himself a cease and desist for his blatant fanfic-turned-play, "Archie's Weird Fantasy," not too long ago. Please do not sue me; I am an unemployed adjunct professor writing fanfiction purely for entertainment purposes. I have very little money, but a whole lot of love for complicated female characters. While I do not wish to be sued, I would very much enjoy being given a position as show-runner for writing some great fanfic. I eagerly await your email.

“Satan in _hell.”_

Zelda entered the bathroom to wash up from all the digging she’d done only to stumble upon a sight that seemed to come straight out of one of Hilda’s erotic novels: rose petals littered the ground, ornate wooden candlesticks held various bundles of sweet-smelling incense, and the clawfoot tub was filled to the brim with a mixture of milk and roses.

Zelda nearly jumped out of her skin as she felt a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around her waist.

“Marie?!”

“Were you expecting someone else, _ch_ _érie_?” Marie teased before placing a long and hot kiss on Zelda’s neck.

Zelda closed her eyes, relishing the feel of Marie’s warm body against her back. She tried not to think back to the baths she took on her honeymoon, lounging in the water until it’d gone cold, floating just above her body while she waited for Faustus to return from the Vatican Necropolis. She would emerge shivering, her skin pruned and rubbed raw in her Caligari-consumed quest to keep her body “clean” for her husband.

“I wasn’t expecting _anyone_ ,” said Zelda, trying to pass off her slight shudder as one of anticipation, not painful remembrance. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and turned herself around in Marie’s embrace. Slinging her arms around Marie’s neck, she purred, “but I’m more than happy to see you.”

Marie squeezed Zelda’s hips with a mischievous smile. “Are you sure you would not prefer to be alone? You were not so… eager when we spoke _hier soir_.”

Zelda pulled away slightly, eyeing the romantic setting Marie had clearly spent a long time creating for them.

“I told you: I’m not comfortable celebrating a Catholic holiday—the day of the False God’s _birth_ , no less. I might not be a Satanist anymore, but some things will never change. I’m sorry,” said Zelda, slipping out of Marie’s arms to wash her hands in the sink, which was the original reason she came into the bathroom in the first place.

She’d spent all morning with Hilda in the morgue and then the graveyard, burying poor Mr. Wakefield’s body, who’d died on Christmas Eve without a soul to remember him. The police had brought his body straight to the Spellman Mortuary, as the county morgue was apparently at capacity after a terrible drunk driving incident in Riverdale. Zelda had wanted to wait until Ambrose was home from his weekend away to do the embalming, but Hilda had insisted they do it sooner rather than later, lest the weather change, as it was wont to do in late December.

Now, Zelda understood her sister’s urgency: Hilda had been trying to _distract_ her.

She’d been manipulated. Duped. Bamboozled. Played for a fool…

Marie’s hands reached over her own to turn off the sink. Zelda jumped back, having been lost in thought.

“Your hands, _ch_ _érie_ …” said Marie softly, reaching for a towel.

Zelda blinked twice before her mind registered that she’d scrubbed her hands hard enough to make them red and enflamed. Marie dried each one separately, taking pains to be gentle. For a reason entirely unknown to Zelda, the softness of the gesture made her suddenly feel like crying.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” said Zelda, gesturing with her free hand to the romantic décor.

“I know, _ch_ _érie_ , but today is an important day, _n’est-ce pas_?” Marie said, tossing the towel down on the counter and taking up Zelda’s hands once more.

Anxiety bubbled in Zelda’s stomach as she came to accept that Marie wasn’t talking about Christmas.

“It’s not,” Zelda insisted, tearing her hands away and walking over to the tub just to give herself something to do. She bent over, dipping her hands into the rose milk bath and hissing a little bit as the hot water stung the raw skin before the sting was soothed by the milk.

“Your sister told me,” Marie confessed, placing what she hoped was a soothing hand on Zelda’s lower back. “All your life, you have never celebrated your birthday. _Quel dommage_.”

“Father and Mother wouldn’t allow it,” said Zelda, swirling her hands through the rose petals absently. “They thought it would anger the Dark Lord if we were to celebrate _anything_ on the 25th of December. Edward and Hilda always got presents, cakes, and candles on their birthdays, but I never did. The most I ever received was a new book from Hilda. She’d hide it under my pillow the night before. It was our secret. Father would've killed us and thrown us in the Cain Pit if he ever found out.”

Marie nodded. Hilda had shared most of this information with her a few days ago. Waving her hand at the candles all around them, she said, “Well, now you have _les bougies_ , and your triple goddess, Hecate, will protect you from the Dark Lord, eh? And if she does not, I will.”

Zelda removed her hands from the bath, the shadow of a smile on her lips. “You are the only present I need. Though I do appreciate a good bath. My body is aching from digging a grave all morning. I should’ve known something was afoot—Hilda would never make me do such a thing on my birthday unless it was to keep me out of the house. But I'd just assumed she'd forgotten.”

Marie felt a twinge of guilt at that. “You must get into the water then, _ch_ _érie,_ to soothe your muscles before it gets cold, eh?”

“Won’t you join me?” Zelda’s voice dropped to a lusty growl as she stepped out of her heels.

Marie shook her head, tugging on Zelda’s blouse to untuck it from her skirt. “This is for you, _mon coeur_.”

Zelda pouted while Marie lifted the blouse over her head. “But if you and the bath are both my presents, I think I’d like to… _open them…_ together.”

As Marie knelt to pull Zelda’s pencil skirt down over her legs, Zelda was thoroughly distracted by having a bird’s-eye view of her lover’s chest.

“Patience, _ma_ _ch_ _érie_ ,” said Marie, looking up at her with a crooked, knowing smile as Zelda nearly stumbled while stepping out of her skirt. “I am not going anywhere.”

Zelda once again felt the unwelcome pinprick of tears forming at the corners of her eyes from Marie’s kindness. Unwilling to ruin the moment with her sentimentality, she abruptly turned away from Marie, under the guise of offering up her back for easier access to unhook her bra. But Marie didn’t immediately move to unclasp the vintage lace. Instead, she raked her fingers down Zelda’s pantyhose, tearing long runs in the delicate material.

“Marie!” Zelda gasped, shivering as she felt the bite of Marie’s nails over her thighs.

“ _Désolée, ch_ _érie_ ,” said Marie, though she didn’t sound very sorry at all. “I could not resist.”

Zelda unhooked her bra herself, making a show of taking it off carefully, without ruining it. “You do realize you don’t have to destroy my underclothes to get me naked, don't you?”

Finished with raking her nails over the material, Marie rolled the pantyhose down to Zelda’s ankles. “But today you are also my _cadeau de Noël_ , so I may unwrap you however I like, eh?”

Marie turned Zelda with gentle hands on her hips before urging her to sit on the edge of the tub so that she could roll the pantyhose over each foot. Zelda looked wary at the mention of Christmas, but her uncertain expression morphed into pleasure as Marie massaged the arch of her foot.

“You must try to relax, _mon amour_ ,” said Marie, still sensing tension in Zelda’s body even as she switched to massage the other foot.

“That’s what the bath is for, isn’t it?” said Zelda, using Marie’s shoulders to lift herself up. There was only one article of clothing left; Marie took great delight in hooking her fingers in the silk of Zelda’s panties and sliding them down.

For a moment, neither Marie nor Zelda moved. Zelda just stood there, with her hands perched on Marie’s shoulders, naked as the day she was born—which she supposed was fitting, as it was indeed her birthday.

Suddenly, Marie swept Zelda off her feet with one arm hooked beneath her knees and the other supporting her lover’s back. Zelda groaned as she sunk into the bath, the hot water immediately soothing her overworked muscles.

“This is divine,” Zelda said, letting her head hang loose over the lip of the tub. “ _Merci,_ Marie.”

“ _De rien_ ,” Marie responded, bending over to place an upside-down kiss on Zelda’s forehead.

Taking up a washcloth, Zelda ran it over the skin of her arms while Marie dipped a glass decanter into the water and brought it over her head. “May I wash your hair?”

“Of course,” said Zelda, sitting up.

As Marie poured the milky mixture over Zelda’s head, she let out a long sigh. Marie’s talented fingers combed through her hair, ensuring it was nourished from root to tip. Zelda dragged the washcloth across her chest and collar bones, trying to remember a time in her life where she'd ever trusted a lover enough to be this vulnerable in front of them. Sure, she’d had more than her fair share of lovers, but her relationships with them rarely involved bathroom activities that weren’t explicit in nature.

A particularly intrusive image flashed across her mind’s eye as Marie finished washing her hair and moved on to massage her shoulders. It was once again a memory of her time with Faustus, but this one was long before the Caligari Spell; she couldn’t have been more than twenty-five years old, though it was hard to believe she was ever that young. It was a happy memory—at least, when it happened, she _thought_ she was happy... but now even the good memories of Faustus had been tainted by the bad.

They’d needed privacy; that much she remembered very clearly. Her father and brother didn’t approve of her “fraternization” with a Blackwood, and so they always had to skulk around in secret. On this particular occasion, they’d hidden in the bathroom with a prayer to Satan that no one would discover them. Faustus had bent her over the sink and told her to watch in the mirror as he took her. It was one of the most erotic things she’d ever seen, the reflection of his muscled and tattooed body so lithe and strong above her. At one point he braced his hands on her shoulders and—

_“Chérie?”_

Zelda blinked, shaking her head slightly to banish the unwanted memory. “Yes?”

Marie placed a kiss at the juncture of her neck and jaw. Zelda shivered despite the warmth of the water.

“Your shoulders are tense, even as I work to untie the knots. You were far away, were you not, _mon tr_ _ésor_?”

Zelda sighed, guilty that her mind always seemed to wander where it shouldn’t when Marie was around. She’d hoped Marie’s steadfast kindness and patience would keep the darkness away from her mind, but Zelda was learning day by day that no matter how unlike her previous lovers Marie proved to be, she could not keep her mind from flashing back to certain unwanted sense memories.

“I’m sorry, Marie. You’ve gone to all this trouble to do something wonderful for me, and yet, I’m still distracted. I don’t deserve you,” said Zelda, lifting her leg out of the water so that she could run the washcloth over her calf and thigh as a means of keeping her in the present.

Zelda froze in her ministrations, however, when a firm hand took her by the chin and turned her face to the side. Marie’s brown eyes were dark with anger, though Zelda could sense the anger was not meant for her.

“Do not say such things. What is this ‘deserve?’ You are not worth less for having a troubled mind, _ch_ _érie_. You have survived much. You are worth ‘more,’ not less, for this—and I will challenge any person who would not agree. Even if that person is you.”

Marie pulled Zelda closer by the back of the neck, kissing her soundly on the lips as if to punctuate her point.

When Marie returned to her shoulders, Zelda was still in a state of shock. Slowly, she could feel the tension draining out of her neck and back. By the time Marie was satisfied, Zelda was practically boneless beneath the cooling water. Whispering a heating spell, Zelda reached behind her to bring Marie around to the side of the bath.

Lacing their fingers together, Zelda said, “I promise I will try harder to accept your compassion without questioning if I deserve it—or whether I can trust it. It might take some time, but I want you to know that I am committed to… to trying.”

“That is all I ask, _chérie_ ,” said Marie, lifting Zelda’s hand up to her lips for a chaste kiss. _“Joyeaux anniversaire.”_

Zelda was suddenly overwhelmed by the notion that this was the first time she’d ever properly celebrated her birthday in all her life. Speaking past the lump forming in her throat, she said, “Thank you.”

“Now,” Marie said, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she began taking off her own clothes, “it is time to enjoy your second gift, eh?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment to let me know what you think. Your support means the world to me.
> 
> Here are some French-to-English translations:  
> chérie // darling  
> hier soir // last night  
> n’est-ce pas? // right?  
> Quel dommage // What a shame  
> les bougies // the candles  
> mon coeur // my heart  
> Désolée // Sorry  
> cadeau de Noël // Christmas present  
> De rien // You're welcome  
> mon trésor? // my treasure  
> Joyeaux anniversaire // Happy birthday


End file.
